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Hermione liked to think of herself as a calm woman. She'd worked hard over the years to build the skills of patience and serenity.
But there was only so much even the most zen of individuals could handle, and she was swiftly reaching her limit.
"I am fine, Draco. I don't need water, or another snack, or for you to adjust the cooling charms for the fiftieth time. You've been so helpful, and I appreciate it—I really do—but please, for the love of all that is sacred, leave me to read in peace!"
At her outburst, her husband threw up his hands and left the room in a huff, clearly offended at being barked at for trying to help.
She'd apologise later. For now, she'd bask in the alone time his dramatic exit gave her.
She snuggled deeper into the mountain of pillows propping her up, lovingly adjusted by Nelly when she'd come to check on Hermione a quarter-hour earlier. The little elf was unbelievably sweet, always asking if Missus Hermione needed anything, and though Hermione was feeling smothered by both the elf and her husband at times, she knew they meant well with their constant hovering.
And really, she shouldn't have snipped at Draco like she had. He'd been so attentive through her pregnancy, and she knew he was just as worried as she was that something would go wrong.
Genetics had dealt her a bad hand of cards.
Her mother experienced great difficulty in conceiving and struggled with ongoing reproductive problems. Eileen and John had lost several babies before finally having Hermione. Uterine fibroids had led to a full hysterectomy when her mother was in her late forties, and Hermione had known that she may have inherited her mother's issues.
Knowing didn't make it any easier, though.
This pregnancy was Hermione's second. A year and a half ago, she'd been 12 weeks along and shampooing her hair when the grey tile floor of the shower was tinted in a wash of red.
She'd been devastated. She so badly wanted to be a mother, wanted to be to her children what her mother had been to her. She had built herself a career that she loved, flexible enough that she could work and balance raising a child. The timing had been perfect—until it wasn’t.
Considering all that, the overbearing concern was warranted. Perhaps it was time to summon her sulky husband and apologise.
Not wanting to bother Nelly—she was supposed to be taking her afternoon break—Hermione conjured her Patronus to send a message to Draco, wherever he'd gone off to.
Unsurprisingly, her pregnancy had been deemed high-risk due to multiple factors, and Hermione had been put on partial bed rest. It was driving her a bit spare but at least it made for plenty of nearly uninterrupted reading time.
Twenty minutes went by, and Hermione was engrossed in her book on the origin of runes when a sound at the door caught her attention.
Draco was standing there, slouching against the door frame with a hint of a pout on his face.
"I got your message—"
"No, really?" At her interjection, he lifted a hand to shush her and continued speaking.
"—and I humbly accept your apology for the wrongdoing you perpetrated upon my person."
"Thank you, oh gracious one.”
He inclined his head towards her with a stupid smug smile on his face, as if he had done her a favour and granted her impunity in his contrived court of law.
"If I come closer, will you hex me?"
Hermione smiled serenely. "It's quite possible. Is it worth the risk?"
He stroked his chin with exaggerated movements, as though he had to really think it over.
"Come here, prat."
He swaggered over to where she was lying on the bed, tossing pillows to the floor and gently rearranging her so they sat with her back to his chest, with Draco leaning back against the headboard.
"Oh no, you've done it now. Nelly will have your hide for mussing up her perfect pillows."
He rested his chin on her shoulder, blowing out a breath to dislodge the strands of hair obscuring his vision.
"A price I'll have to pay, I suppose. It's worth it to hold my cranky wife."
"Excuse me, I am not cranky."
He said nothing for a long moment, letting the silence answer for him.
"Fine. Maybe a little cranky. No worse than you when you've not gotten enough sleep."
He hummed into her neck. "Whatever you say, dear."
"Now that's more like it. Though I could do without the sarcasm."
"No, you couldn't. You'd be bored out of your mind with someone who agreed with everything you said."
She pinched the arm he had wrapped around her. "Bored but with my sanity intact."
He snorted.
He was correct, of course, but she'd certainly never admit it to his face. His head was big enough as it was.
They sat in silence for a while. At some point, Hermione had picked her book up again and was halfway through the chapter on the Codex Runicus when the warm chest behind her expanded on a deep sigh, and the owner of the chest in question whispered against her ear.
“Hermione.”
Turning the page, she made a sound in response, only half paying attention.
“I’m— I just… I’m fucking scared, Hermione.”
Shifting a bit so she could rest her head against his shoulder, Hermione grasped the hand cradling her stomach and gave it a squeeze, rubbing her thumb across his knuckles. She didn’t say anything, just quietly supported him while he worked up the courage to be vulnerable.
“Not just scared it won’t be a healthy birth, but what if I… What if I turn out to be a shite father? Merlin knows I don’t deserve you, there’s no goddamn way I’m worthy of her,” he said, rubbing little circles across Hermione’s belly.
“We all have stains in our pasts, love. Each day, we have to wake up and choose to do the right thing, to walk the straight path. The mistakes you’ve made, the mistakes any of us make, are not unpardonable. I won’t sit here and feed you some bullshite about how the things you’ve done don’t matter—because they do—but you’ve earned forgiveness. At some point, you have to accept some for yourself. What matters now is how you go forward. You are a good, loving, infuriatingly stubborn man that I never, ever thought I'd spend my life with—"
"Wow. Thanks, sweetheart. What a winning endorsement."
"—Let me finish. A good, loving, incredible, and only sometimes overbearing man that keeps me on my toes. One I never thought I'd spend my life with, but I'm so glad that I get to."
Voice a little thick now with tears, Hermione said, "And I can't wait for our daughter to meet you."
"Don't get sappy on me now, love." The words didn't pack much of a punch though, because as he said it he held her tighter and twisted forward to kiss her, soft and sweet.
"Love you," she said against his lips, feeling his chest rumble in response under the hand she'd pressed against his heart.
In the little hallway outside the delivery room, amidst the normal sounds of a hospital, an incessant tapping could be heard.
Draco had swiftly grown annoyed with the sound—until he realized it was his shoe that was making contact with the shiny hospital floor at a frenzied pace.
His mother's voice rang in his head.
Malfoy's don't fidget.
That was all well and good, but his mother should step into his fidgety shoes for just a moment. Perhaps she might realize how stressful it was to just wait while your wife prepared to bring another human into this world, without a blasted thing you could do to help!
He didn't trust the healers. What was their education, their qualifications? Any old halfwit could get a job if they had the right connections. He knew this fact intimately.
They said the complications Hermione was experiencing were within the realm of normal and not entirely atypical, but what if they were wrong? Birth was a complicated process, and adding magic into the mix certainly had to affect it somehow.
They’d tried for so long, already experiencing loss first-hand. Sitting here helpless was eating him up. They wouldn’t even let him in the room.
Hermione had kicked him out when he started to reach peak anxiety and wouldn't stop firing off questions that occasionally sounded like demands. She told him it was absolutely hysterical that he was the one who always complained about her asking too many questions, and would he Please leave and let the bloody healers do their jobs?
She'd been insistent that she was fine, despite his arguments to the contrary. So stubborn and proud, to the bloody end.
There was a window just across the way, and Draco watched a little green bird land on a tree branch, flicking its head around to take in its surroundings. He’d always envied birds. Flying was a spiritual experience, and a broom was the closest he could get to having wings.
"Malfoy's don't fidget, you know."
For a minute he thought he was losing his mind and actually hearing his mother's voice speak to him from inside his head.
When he looked up, his mother was standing there with a hint of a smile on her face.
There was the click of heels on hard floor, and the barest swish of fabric as she sat next to him on the bench he was occupying.
Hermione's parents were stuck in Germany for a health conference. They'd tried to get on a plane when they'd received word that Hermione was going into labour, but the weather was bad and travel was heavily delayed. Draco's father had died in Azkaban, leaving his mother a widow and the only grandparent able to be there for the birth of their first grandchild.
Draco wouldn't admit it, but it was immensely comforting to have his mother there. It gave him something familiar to focus on instead of the whirlwind of "what if?" situations tearing through his mind.
His mother reached out to pat him on the knee with a perfectly manicured hand. "Hello, dear."
"Hey, Mum. Thanks for coming. Hermione will be so happy to see you."
Over the years, much to Draco's surprise, Hermione and Narcissa had grown close, starting with a foundation of mutual respect that had grown into affection. Sometimes Draco thought perhaps his mum might prefer Hermione to him. He was delighted that they got along so well, but only-child syndrome made him a little jealous. Just a little, though. Once, on holiday in France, Hermione and Draco had held a talent competition, each of them trying to impress his mother so she'd pick her favourite. Draco didn’t really like to talk about the results.
"How's she doing?"
Right, his mum was here. Focus, mate.
"Okay, I guess. Someone came out a few minutes ago, said there was an issue with the, uh, um-something?"
"Umbilical cord?"
"Right. That. They said there was a problem but it was something that was easily remedied, so no reason to worry."
"Mmm. Well, you certainly look like a person without a worry on their mind. You're positively radiating calm."
At her words, Draco realized he'd been clenching his fists so tightly that his knuckles were white and he'd run his hands over his head so many times his hair must be a mess. He'd come straight from work, and his tie was crumpled in his lap.
He probably looked a fright.
When he lifted his head, his mother was looking at him with her perfected mum stare, the kind that told him he needed to calm down because being so agitated wasn't helping anyone.
"Deep breaths, mon prince.”
As he made a move to do just that, the door cracked open and a head popped out. "Mr. Malfoy?"
Draco stood in a hurry, dislodging his mother's hand from his leg and making the tie tumble to the floor.
"Baby's coming, and quick. Your wife asked me to get you."
Things were a little blurry after that. He was suddenly holding Hermione's hand. Her face was red from exertion, her hair frizzed out in every direction. The healers were speaking to her in a constant stream, but to Draco's ears it sounded like they were underwater. Everything moved slowly, yet so rapidly at the same time— somehow—and he came out of the fog when a very high pitched, very irritated cry rang through the room.
Then all he could see was her. Tiny, pink, angry, and covered in goop.
He heard someone say, "Wonderful job, mama," and "We've got a beautiful, healthy baby girl!"
She's okay. They're both okay.
When things had calmed down and the baby had been cleaned and wrapped in a little green blanket patterned with smiling teeth and dental floss in the shape of hearts—courtesy of her grandparents—it was just the three of them in the small room. Hermione, exhausted but filled with joy, lay back on the bed and took in the beautiful scene before her.
"Oh, thank Circe, she takes after her father.”
"Shifty eyes, massive ego?"
"Well, she does have a lot to be proud of. She just had her very first bowel movement. That's quite an accomplishment, mum."
"Our daughter is truly a wonder."
She watched Draco rock slowly back and forth where he stood next to the bed, their newborn cradled in his arms. He pressed his lips to her peach fuzz forehead and when he lifted his head, his eyes were shiny.
"Fuck, Hermione. I—"
His voice broke on the vowel, jaw clenching and eyes squeezing shut. She reached for him, pulling him closer so she could stroke her knuckles over his cheek.
"I know. She’s perfect, our Cordelia.”
Draco Malfoy didn’t process emotion well, preferring instead to shove everything down and hide it away, so Hermione wasn’t surprised when his next comment was a deflection.
“So bloody perfect. You know, we should probably get started on the next one pretty soon.”
“Excuse me?”
“She might end up with your hair. A few more and there’s a better chance at least one won’t be cursed with your genetics.”
Hermione smiled and held back a laugh, knowing it would hurt. “You’re an idiot, Malfoy.”
“You married me.”
“A mistake easily remedied.”
Draco shifted their baby in his arms a bit to face Hermione, pitched his voice high, and spoke with a childlike lisp. “But mummy, if you left daddy you’d never be able to fund your addiction! Books aren’t cheap, you know. Whatever would you do if you couldn’t take that desperate hit of literature?”
This time she couldn’t stop it—she laughed.
“Good thing she’s asleep. You’ve done her a disservice with that piss-poor imitation.”
“Well, I’ve never said impersonation was one of my many qualities. Quick wit, sure. Incredible love-making ability, definitely. Massive co—"
The healer chose that exact moment to rap on the door, coming in to check on Hermione and the baby and thankfully cutting off whatever filth was about to come out of Draco’s mouth.
When the healer went to take the baby from Draco’s arms, he looked at Hermione over the healer’s head and waggled his brows suggestively.
Insufferable, that one.
Good thing she liked him that way.